"Then it is all right," said Marguerite. "He loves her." "What dost thou mean, Margot?" "When a man marries, my Damoiselle, one of three things happens. Either he weds from policy, and has no love for his lady; but Monseigneur Guy loves to look at her, so it is not that. Or, he loves himself, and she is merely a toy which ministers to his pleasure. Then he would be absorbed in himself and her, and not notice whether any other were happy or unhappy. But if he loves her, with that true, faithful, honourable love, which is one of God’s best gifts, then he will be courteous and tender towards all women, because she is one. And especially to his own relatives, being women, who love him, he will be very loving indeed. That is why I asked." "O Margot, Margot!" I said, laughing. "Where on earth dost thou find all thy queer notions?" "Not all on earth, my Damoiselle. But, for many of them, all that is wanted is just to keep one’s eyes open." "Are my eyes open, Margot?" "My Damoiselle had better shut them now," replied Marguerite, a little drily. "She can open them again to-morrow." So I went to sleep, and dreamed that Guy married Lady Judith, in her nun’s attire, and that I was in great distress at the sacrilege, and could do nothing to avert it. *CHAPTER V.* _*CURIOUS NOTIONS*_*.* "The soul, doubtless, is immortal—where a soul can be discerned." —ROBERT BROWNING. For the last few weeks, since we reached Jerusalem, I have been very busy going about with the Damoiselle Melisende, and sometimes the Lady Isabel, with Amaury as escort. We have now visited all the holy places within one day’s journey. I commanded Marguerite to attend me, for it amuses me afterwards to hear what she has to say. We went to the Church of Saint Mary, in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, which is built in a round form; and in it is the empty tomb in which our Lady was buried. So some say, and that the angels carried her body away in the night: but other some say, that while the holy Apostles were carrying her to her burial, the angels came down and bore her away to Paradise. I asked Margot (as she always listens) if she had heard Father Eudes read about it from the holy Evangel: but she said he had never read the story of that, at least in French. In this church there is a stone in the wall, on which our Lord knelt to pray on the night of His betrayal; and on it is the impression of His knees, as if the stone were wax. There is no roof to the church, but by miraculous provision of the good God, the rain never falls on it. Here also, our Lord’s body, when taken down from the cross, was wrapped and anointed.